So apparently my grandpa has no idea how sick my mom is. I personally am not sure which would be worse, what I'm going through now, or thinking she's doing way better and then being rudely interupted one day, and finding out everyone else knew. I was a coward; I didn't really set him straight. I guess my dad is too, because he's the one that's been keeping grandpa updated. I sort of get where dad's coming from; even though Mom's a grown up, it's got to be hard to tell a man his daughter is dying. I don't know.

I actually called him because I was depressed and thought talking to him would distract me (I'm probably a poor granddaughter but he wasn't even my first choice). That was a bad idea; I'm going to have to remember to never call him when I'm depressed ever again. Because this is how it went down.

Grandpa: so how's work going?
Me: (I hate it so much I cry in the bathroom before my shift sometimes thinking about having to do this job one more day) Eh...
Grandpa: So have you found a handsome guy?
Me: I had a handsome guy but then he broke up with me.
Grandpa: So is your mother going out to dinner with you guys tonight?
Me: (she has not been anywhere but the couch except for cancer treatments since March) No.
Grandpa: I think I'm going to visit soon.
Me: That would be cool.
Grandpa: And work? You're working every day?
Me: yes

Ad nauseum.

Before that, I was just sort of lying around, feeling sick in general. I've noticed that after the initial rush of well-being I felt at improving my diet, I've been feeling sick about as much or more than I was before, only much less pain per episode. I guess that's better, but not as much better as I had hoped for, given the earlier success. The thing is, people have two sides of the spectrum: diahrea, and constipation. When they're in the middle, they're good. I, however, can never be in the middle and totally good, and the few times I am in the middle, I get both bad things. Constipation causes pain, pain, pain so I guess I try to aim more towards the diahrea side. So... yeah, I've just been feeling sort of sick and diahreay the last few days (as opposed to hours long episodes of knife stabbing pain before that). It kind of killed my progress at cleaning the place and attempting to get things done.

After the talk with Grandpa, the day got somewhat better, I decided to cheer myself up the american way (go out and buy stuff). I rarely, rarely ever buy clothes for myself but I decided to get a skirt because I need more pants or skirts because I'm too fat for the ones I have now. So I got a pretty skirt for myself so I can feel like less of a fat slob. Then I went out and bought some soy cheese. I am curious to see if it makes me feel bad as real cheese, and if it tastes any good. The only downside, if I like it, is that it is insanely expensive. Then they had a HUGE carton of blueberrys on sale that I bought. They look ripe and fresh and delicious. I'm thinking of maybe making some yogurt parfaits since I have all the yogurt right now, or finding a smoothie recipe or something.

Then I went to dinner with my dad, because it's his birthday. It was mainly good, I worked more with the Phew on his delivery of "do you have tickets to the gun show? They're right over there." The food was tasty. My dad also gave me something to think about, he had an article on how they're needing technicians for windmill farms now that people are trying harder for natural energy, and maybe I could see if I could get that sort of job, which seems really interesting. One thing I was sort of annoyed with my dad about--I had e-mailed him a few days ago I finally had read and made notes on what I thought of the obituary he wrote for mom. He asked me if I had it, and I was like, "No. I didn't want to bring it to your birthday celebration." Who brings a man's wife's obituary to him on his birthday? Not me. He's so anxious to have it that he wanted to stop by my place after dinner (which he ended up doing on his own, I had stuff I had to do afterwards, which I told him).

Which, about the obituary: once I got over the hump of actually making myself read it, I found that I mostly didn't care. The only thing I care about is her living, and since I can't have that, I don't care that much about anything else. She's not going to be there to see it or care. It seems pointless. I don't know if my Dad & sister think I'm not pulling my weight, because I don't have an opinion on any of this, but... I dunno. I pointed out a gramatical mistake or two, and then did not write anything about the one thing that DID annoy me about the obit, which was that it started out with, "After a courageous struggle with lung cancer, (my mom's name) passed away on _________." Yeah, her struggle is SO courageous that it inspired you to give up on her and predict for her to fail in this "struggle" several months ahead of time, with a convenient blank to fill in for the exact date.

After dinner I went to hang out with Julie (who was in town, yay!) & co in Danvers for awhile, which was fun. I got my ass handed to me in an interesting game called infernal contraption, and we played some rock band. Julie got me some ENORMOUS 20 sided dice for my Minja. It was a lot better than the day started.